


Birthing Shenanigans

by PickleandtheQueen



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Childbirth, Family Feels, Gen, Humor, Post-Cell Games Saga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickleandtheQueen/pseuds/PickleandtheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chichi goes into labor while the gang is at Kame House</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthing Shenanigans

Piccolo was not entirely sure how he had been dragged into joining Chichi and Gohan for an outing all of the way out at Kame House, but there he was, standing awkwardly on the beach while the others - Krillin, Gohan, Bulma, and Yamcha - frolicked in the waves. Chichi was sitting in a fold out chair that the namekian doubted could actually support her current weight. The concerned look on her face told him that she was thinking something along the same lines. It was also quite apparent that the heavily pregnant woman was stuck in the chair, plasticy supports sagging and squeaking as she tried and failed to adjust herself. He pursed his lips, wondering if he should offer help. He caught her eye, and she shrugged, apparently committing herself to being stuck, and sank back in the protesting chair. The namekian’s ears flicked.  _ Alright then _ . He shifted from foot to foot, contemplating removing his training gear to cool off, but thought better of it as Vegeta and Roshi exited the small pink cottage. It simply wouldn’t do for the saiyan to think he was weak. As it were, Vegeta completely ignored him, huffing about before apparently deciding to go mope near Trunks, who was busy eating sand. 

Bulma must have noticed her… Piccolo’s ears flicked, he was unsure _what_ Vegeta was to her. Gohan had explained that people were not husbands and wives until they had been married, whatever the hell that meant, but he knew that Vegeta and Bulma had not undergone any ceremony besides making a baby… and he understood that marriage was not necessary for babymaking. He decided to go with ‘mate.’ Bulma must have noticed her mate and offspring, and splashed out of the water. 

“ _Vegeta_! Don’t let him eat sand! Trunks, Trunks that’s icky! Ugh if I didn’t know that he turned out cute and smart I’d be concerned.”

“He won’t be the same as the Trunks from the Future,” Vegeta snapped, and Piccolo tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “This timeline is going to be soft compared to his! Pity, that boy was almost worth something.”

“You’re such an ass, God, Vegeta! I don’t know why I keep you around.  _ Ugh _ .” 

Piccolo rolled his eyes, focusing his attention once more on Gohan; he too had exited the water, shaking his head like a dog, water droplets flying everywhere. 

“I’ll watch Trunks, Bulma! I need practice for the baby.” He wore an infectious grin, and Piccolo felt his face soften as Gohan plopped down next to the infant. 

“Oh, sure, Gohan. Thanks, that’s a big help.” 

Vegeta snorted, but gave no indication that he planned to move from his position. Bulma seemed satisfied that at least one of the two would keep Trunks out of trouble as much as possible… 

The namekian’s ears flicked and he refocused on Chichi as her chair once again squeaked in protest. 

“Ugh, I do not miss being that huge. I felt like a blimp.” 

“Thanks, Bulma,” Chichi’s reply came out more like a grunt than her usual voice. Piccolo snorted, catching the dangerous glint in the usually-tiny woman’s eyes. If she weren’t swollen to nearly twice her size with an impending second child, he had no doubt that Bulma would be flat on her back in the sand, and he would be fending off Vegeta from seeking revenge. 

“How far along are you anyway?” Bulma had either ignored or not heard the threat. 

“Thirty-three weeks,” Some of the tension left Chichi’s shoulders as she placed her hands on her belly, “almost to the day.” Piccolo heard her mention something vulgar under her breath. Bulma heard it too, and laughed.

“Well, that’s something. Just a little more, huh?”

“Mmm,” Chichi nodded, shifting again and the chair creaked dangerously. “Piccolo, Piccolo, can you help me up? I’d ask Bulma but…” 

Piccolo grunted and strode over to her, not bothering with the outheld hands and simply scooping her up from under the arms. “Hey I’m  _ with _ child, not  _ a _ child!” But she was soon on her feet, grumbling and face flushed. “Thank you, Beanie.”

Piccolo’s face flushed, and Chichi beamed. 

“ _ Beanie _ ?” Bulma snorted, but Chichi tut-tutted, smoothing out her sundress. It was still incredibly modest, at least in comparison to 18 and Bulma’s swimwear, but a good deal more revealing than her usual outfits. 

“Piccolo has been a true dear lately, there won't be any mocking him.” He was about to remind her that he could take care of himself, but was abruptly cut off at the look of pain that creased Chichi’s face. “Oooooh,” she snatched at his shirt with one hand, rubbing her belly with the other. 

“Are you alright?” Piccolo’s ears flicked, brow furrowing. 

Chichi nodded, face pinched, waving him off.

“Just ah, just Braxton-Hicks.” 

Piccolo did not know what that meant, but Bulma sighed in relief and apparently empathy.

“That’s a relief, imagine if you went into full blown labor out on the island, that would be a hassle.” 

“You're telling me,” Chichi muttered, straightening and shaking her head. “I don't think there’s room for all of this on that tiny plane you brought.” Bulma laughed and nodded in agreement, said something about going to get a drink, and wandered off.

“What…” Piccolo paused, “what is a ‘Braxton-Hicks?’”

“False labor,” Chichi grunted, making another face. “I got them with Gohan too, it’s not a big deal, really more uncomfortable than anything. Ugh, those were a little close together…” 

“Is that normal?” 

Chichi shrugged, “they're irregular, while real labor contractions get closer and closer together. I’ll know the difference.” Piccolo pinned his ears, deciding to trust her, even if her Ki level was raised above its normal level. Perhaps a side effect of the stress?  _ Humans _ , he thought to himself, following Chichi as she made her way to a different, more supportive and sturdy looking chair, and helped her lower herself down into the seat,  _ were incredibly inefficient creatures _ . “Ooooh, this is getting old…”

“Correct me if I am wrong,” Piccolo pinned his ears, “but these...contractions, seem quite close together.” 

“This is nothing, trust me,” Chichi huffed, even as her face pinched in pain. “Can you get me water and an umbrella? I’m probably just overheated and dehydrated.” Piccolo waved his hand, an umbrella materializing in the sand next to her chair, throwing shade over her. 

After squeezing through the door to Kame House, Piccolo found the kitchen and a tall glass, filled it with water, and returned to Chichi. She still looked incredibly uncomfortable. 

“Are you sure -”   
“I’m  _ fine _ , Piccolo.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment trying to decide if it would be worth the chewing out he would undoubtedly receive should he comment on her tone of voice. He determined that no, no it was not worth the energy expenditure. Not today. He handed her the glass of water and folded his legs up into his usual lotus position, hovering under the shade of the umbrella. He could sense her ki fluctuating, but chose not to comment. It was not as if he knew anything about human childbirth in the first place, and Chichi’s ki had been all over the place lately as it were. Still, he had a creeping suspicion that she was incorrect in saying that she was ‘just fine.’ Swallowing the urge to sigh, Piccolo closed his eyes and turned himself inward, seeking meditative calm. 

 

It was always hard to keep track of time whilst deep in meditation. He was, however, jolted rudely out his trance as Chichi’s fingers dug into his bicep. It was all he could do not to yelp. As it were, the namekian jumped, jolting violently and wincing. 

“What the  _ hell _ , Chichi?” 

She replied with a feral snarl, fingers tightening and nails biting into his skin. “...Chichi?” Pain was easy enough to ignore, and he pushed it to the side. Her ki flared, attracting the attention of Gohan, Krillin, Yamcha, and Vegeta. 

“Mom?” Piccolo wasn’t looking at the boy, but he didn’t need to - the concern was dripping off of his voice.    
“ _ N-Not _ now, Gohan,” Chichi panted, face reddening more and more by the second. Piccolo was reasonably certain she was going to tear off his arm. The entire limb was throbbing in agony. But, he managed to reason as Chichi’s hand somehow tightened even more around his bicep, whatever pain he was in was surely nothing compared to whatever the hell was happening to her. 

“Holy hell, Chichi, are you in labor?” Krillin looked like he was going to faint. Yamcha ran into Kame House before Chichi could even reply, muttering something about towels and ice chips. Piccolo’s heart leapt up into his throat. The  _ baby _ ?  _ Now _ ? On the  _ beach _ ? That couldn’t be sanitary! Humans didn’t lay eggs, the infant would have no protection from all the - the -  _ the everything!  _

“What’s this I’m hearing about Chichi in labor?” Bulma’s voice screeched from the doorway leading into the pink house. “Didjer water break?”

“ _ I’M NOT IN LABOR! _ ” Chichi sounded utterly unconvinced, tears pricking her eyes as her voice grew in pitch. “ _ I HAVE AT  _ **_LEAST_ ** _ SIX MORE WEEKS! _ ” She let go of Piccolo’s arm in favor of the seat of the chair. It cracked under her grip. 

Yamcha threw open one of the windows. 

“I cleaned up the living room and laid out towels and have a bowl of ice chips!”

That sounded better than the beach. 

Piccolo had no memory of actually making the decision to carry the screaming, belabored woman into the house, but, there they were, in the living room, with Chichi propped up against the wall by pillows and one of Piccolo’s arms. She was still trying to deny that labor was indeed what was happening, loudly and shrilly insisting that she has merely in discomfort and had wet herself. By this point, everyone on the island was in some state of panic. Gohan was wringing his hands and asking if he could help, should he get go get Dende? a doctor? and it was causing Chichi even more stress. Krillin offered to take Gohan to the Lookout to fetch Dende, and Piccolo would thrown them both out the door if only he had a hand that Chichi was not using in some way. Those two were gone, and Vegeta had disappeared, using the excuse of taking Trunks home to flee the scene. Bulma kept asking Chichi of she wanted bourbon, then smacking herself on the forehead. “Of course not, you're giving birth. Alcohol is bad for babies.”

Chichi was actually just crying at this point, her hair already drenched in sweat and face flushed an incredibly stressed out red. Piccolo was sweating, and he wished he could blame it on being uncomfortable on their proximity. In truth, she was crushing his hand with enough strength to rival the grip of a super saiyan. 

“I don’t want to have this baby right now!” she sobbed, even as he watched a contraction ripple through her. “I can’t have this baby here, I can’t, Piccolo make it stop!”   
“What do you want  _ me _ to do?” His voice cracked, eyebrows shooting up and crinkling his forehead. 

“ _ I don’t care just make it stop! _ ” Piccolo looked helplessly around the room at the ghost white faces of Bulma and Yamcha. He mouthed  _ “what do I do?”  _ even as he adjusted his hold on her, the hand connected to the arm supporting her back tightening on her shoulder, drawing her closer to his chest. Chichi heaved a sob, her head falling onto his shoulder as another contraction rippled through her body. He wished he had removed his weights, the shoulder pad could not possibly be comfortable for her… Piccolo’s ears pinned against his skull, still hoping for an answer from Bulma or anyone else. 

He tried to read Bulma’s lips, and was reasonably certain she said “ _ just keep holding her _ ,” and he swallowed, heart hammering.

“Can y’see the little feller yet?” Roshi asked, and Chichi’s eyes popped open. 

“I don’t want that lecherous old pervert looking at me while I’m in labor!”

“ _ Woaaahhh _ , Nellie! Ain’t nothing more disturbin’ than lady bits while there’s a baby -” Chichi screamed and somehow grabbed something to hurl at the Turtle Hermit. 

“ _ GET. OUT _ .”

“This is my - ”

“You heard her, Old Man!” Piccolo snapped, lips curling back over his long fangs, “get out of this room!” Roshi did not argue with Piccolo, and fled, muttering rude things under his breath as he did. Chichi’s fingers loosened on his hand, and he was suddenly aware of just how much the appendage was throbbing. It was probably broken. She tried to push herself up, heels slipping on the floor despite the towel beneath her, and Piccolo eased his arm from behind her. She made a noise as if to protest and snatched at his abused hand. “I’m just taking my weights off,” he wished he understood why she was so adamant about having his presence. It was not as if her pain was  _ his  _ doing! Nevertheless, the moment he was free of his cape and turban, he resumed his… duty… of holding her, supporting her through whatever this was. _ Just in time, too,  _ he thought with a grimace as Chichi crunched his hand in hers. Another contraction. How far apart were they now? He glanced at the clock, trying to remember when the last one had happened, and kicking himself for not paying more close attention. 

“Three minutes,” Bulma must have read his mind; she was sitting between Chichi’s knees and pulling capsules out of container. “I have an emergency birth kit in here somewhere…” Yamcha dabbed a wet washcloth over Chichi’s forehead, and offered her ice chips, which were refused in the form of an agonized yowl. Piccolo’s hand audibly cracked, and his eyes watered. 

“Shouldn’t we be concerned?” he hissed, sweat pooling on his forehead and dripping down his face. 

Bulma shook her head, still searching her capsule case. 

“This is pretty normal.”

_ Normal? _

_ This _ was normal? How the hell had the human species survived? Humans willingly subjected themselves to this? It was so, so... so  _ inefficient _ ! And dangerous! He could feel Chichi’s ki puttering, lowering as she exhausted herself with this labor. “Oh, here it is! Okay, we’ve got gloves, sterile scissors, shoe laces, alcohol - not the fun kind, sorry guys - syringes, diapers, the works! Don’t worry, Chichi, we’ve gotcha covered!”

Chichi’s response was a small sob, and pushed back against Piccolo’s arm. She was so tired? How could she possibly finish this? What happened if she passed out? 

As in answer to his silent fears, Dende, Krillin, and Gohan’s kis appeared on his radar.  _ Good _ . Dende could at least help keep Chichi comfortable and conscious. 

“Mom! I’ve got Dende! Piccolo is she okay?” Gohan dropped to his knees beside his mother, taking the cloth from Yamcha and attentively dabbing at the sweat beading on her forehead. 

“I have never seen a human birth before,” Piccolo thought Dende looked faint. That was just what they needed, the guardian passing out on them. “But I am here to help, and I assisted with many eggs on Namek.” 

“I’m not laying an egg! Piccolo,” Chichi struggled to sit up more before falling back against him with a cry, “ _ gahhhh _ , Piccolo tell him I’m not laying an e-- _ hhhaaaaaa _ !”

Piccolo gritted his teeth as Chichi furthered the destruction of his hand. Dende knelt beside Gohan, and placed a hand on Chichi’s shoulder. “What - are - you -” Chichi could not manage any more words as yet another contraction hit her. 

“You are tired, I am restoring your energy.” Piccolo felt Chichi’s ki rise slowly, and some of the strain left her face. The relief was momentary, however, and Piccolo thought he heard Bulma mention something about being able to see the head. _ See the head? _ Chichi was screaming again, but at least now, it seemed, things were happening. 

“We got a full head o’ hair, keep pushing, Chichi,  _ push _ , ahhh there’s a shoulder - two shoulders!”

“Ahh this baby better grow up to be a doctor, oh my g--- _ ahhhh _ ,” Piccolo was unsure if his hand was so damaged he could no longer feel it, or if he had simply become used to the pain. 

And then, quite suddenly it seemed, it was over, and Chichi was holding a messy, wet, wrinkly, and  _ loud _ baby. Its sopping wet tail was already curling around Chichi’s wrist as she cried, kissing its face and murmuring sweet words to it. Bulma mentioned something about afterbirth, and looked as if she were pulling something out from between Chichi’s legs. Piccolo chose to look at his hand. Just like that, the pain came rushing back. At least it was an easy fix… In a haze, Piccolo stared at Chichi, at the baby, at Gohan. What… Why… Bloody towels were being rolled up by Yamcha, who had tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. Bulma was busy getting blankets to wrap Chichi and her newborn in. Roshi and Krillin were peering around the corner. Gohan was crying almost as hard as Chichi, petting the little hairy head as the baby nursed. Dende was sitting off to the side, looking slightly confused, but quite pleased. _ What had just happened?  _

“You’ve done this twice,” Piccolo deadpanned, dark eyes once again focusing on the tiny baby. A boy, he thought.

Chichi beamed at him; despite Dende’s healing powers, she still appeared immensely tired. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, cheeks red, eyes swollen and overflowing with tears. And yet… Piccolo’s stomach did a somersault, and he decided he did not want to pursue that thought. Too dangerous. 

“Twice,” she affirmed, and he thought that she looked pleased. 

“ _ Why _ ?” he was rooted to the spot, staring at her and the baby. “Why on Earth would you do this  _ once _ , let alone  _ twice _ ?! You knew how absolutely terrible this was going to be, and yet you do it  _ again _ !  _ I don’t under _ -” Before he could react, Chichi had placed the baby into his open arms, and when that weight settled against him, something deep in his chest stirred, and his words were cut off, strangled in his throat. He gaped at the child in his arms, so comically small compared to him. He was afraid to move lest he accidentally crush the baby “...stand.” The end of his sentence slipped out, so small and quiet. The baby’s tail curled around his wrist, and, in that moment, he understood perfectly.


End file.
